You tell me you love me
"*******, *****!"
You call out the window at me like Romeo
"Welcome home, beautiful."
The text messages read raw
"I'll always love you, Jamila"
But my name isn't Jamila.
I drop you off for a few days
It's your sister's birthday
A year since her death
Through angry tears you kiss me goodbye
"See you in a couple of days, after the celebration.
I'll be calling you like crazy. I'll miss you like crazy. Answer."
You don't call.
There is a new picture on our computer
She's got glasses, mousy brown hair, and is holding her cell phone
I do too.
I text you and ask you who these people are
"There's no one else, I swear. I love you. I'll marry you. Let's get married, K?"
You think I'm coming to pick you up.
I won't.
You tell me you love me.
Well, *******, *****.

I met my neighbor today.
Well, he's not my neighbor yet,
but he will be when I'm forty-two
and have that burgundy four-door.
He'll have two kids by then,
one from a previous marriage;
loud mouth little *****,
always reminding his step-mother
that his real mom wouldn't stand for
what she wants to call discipline.
I should really remind his dad to return
my rototiller when I see him next.
-
The meteorologist called for sleet
and I still don't see any ****** sleet.
I walked to the fuel station and got a fountain soda;
I counted six stray cats on the way back.
One of them used to belong to a woman
by the name of Jamila who moved back to Atlanta
in July of last summer.
The cat never liked to come to her,
so it stayed behind to chart star patterns.
Sometimes, when no one is out on the street,
the cats meet in alleyways to gossip
about the state of affairs in the soy city.
-
I buried seven heads-up pennies
underneath the yield sign on Union street
last Wednesday, I believe it was.
I'm still waiting on a reply,
but Mr. Cuttlefish isn't known for his punctuality.
No one is around here;
it's bad for your health if everyone knows where
and when you'll be.
They say one of the neighbor kids
found a piece of amber the size of a plum
in a box of Rice Chex from the corner market.
I knew someone would find it eventually.
-
Every umpteenth sidewalk slab has an "X" engraved
in the top, right-hand corner.
It signifies a meeting zone, and if you wait their long enough
I can probably convince one of the
silver men from the condemned apartment building
to let me borrow their aural symphonizer
so I can finally see what it's like
to extract one while it is still alive and roily.
It wont be too long of a wait,
as the men are always brief with conversation
and always seem to blink and breathe
at the exact same time I do.